The Widow
by GraceBe
Summary: Set in 1894. Violet, newly widowed and bored with her life, and Prince Kuragin meet at a houseparty... I guess there's nothing more to say about this. The last chapter is added! Thanks for reading!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey or its characters. I borrowed Violet & Prince Kuragin from J. Fellowes, the other characters that appear in this story are my creation. This chapter is rated T, but the rating will go up for the following installments. So, consider yourself warned ;-) **

**The story is again edited by my fabulous friend Gemenied. **

**The widow **

_A widow is a fascinating being with the flavour of maturity, the spice of experience, the piquancy of novelty, the tang of practised coquetry, and the halo of one man's approval._ ~ Helen Rowland

**England, April, 1894**

**Part 1 **

Life as the widow of the late Earl of Grantham was as dull as Violet had always imagined it. She had not only lost her husband (dear Edward, may he rest in peace), she had also lost her purpose. She was the Dowager Countess of Grantham now. She lived in the Dower House in the village while her young daughter-in-law was living the life Violet used to have. Cora was the new lady of the manor, while Violet was just the relict of another time, and she was only 52 years old. Too young to be buried next to her late (much older) husband, too old to be of interest for most men – no matter how available or unavailable they might were.

Good, old Edward (in her head she always called her husband 'good, old Edward') had died almost one year ago and this was the first time she had actually decided to follow the invitation to join a house party. She was in half mourning now, which meant she was allowed to smile in public without pretending to feel worse than she did about it. Attending this party meant to show the world that Violet Crawley wasn't done with life just yet. Not that she felt that confident about the whole thing as she pretended to be. At times like this she certainly missed her husband more than she had ever expected. Edward had been a quiet man, reliable, boring, but always there and until his death she had never really appreciated his virtues and his silent support. He had never controlled her or had told her what to do. He had allowed her a lot of freedom, which many other wives would have mistaken for indifference, but Violet had come to understand that it had been his way of showing his love and how he had dealt with the fact that he had been almost 20 years her senior.

Now she was living alone for the first time in her life, with a house of her own and she still needed to find out what to do with her time without becoming one of those overbearing old women who never knew where their place was. If she remembered correctly Shakespeare called the future "The undiscovered country". So how many undiscovered things could lie ahead for an English widow who didn't want to feel or become useless?

The only way to find out was to return to the land of living. And so she arrived in a carriage which had taken her from the station at Carrington Hall, ready to make the best of the days that lay ahead.

As always Violet kept all of these thoughts hidden behind a well trained mask of friendliness. It had taken her decades to put up a smile that gave nothing away of her inner thoughts and these days she could smile and chit chat effortlessly, no matter, how she felt inside. She considered this achievement a victory, earned and granted after many years of self-doubt and pain, inflicted by her parents, her mother-in-law and sometimes by herself.

Her carriage stopped at the entrance and she smiled her perfect smile at her old friend Marjorie, Lady Carrington, as they greeted each other.

"How wonderful of you to come. It's been so long, Violet!" Marjorie said as they went inside.

"Well, a lot has happened," Violet answered with a small shrug.

"I hope your journey was pleasant."

"It was tiring," Violet answered wearily. It wasn't a lie. She felt indeed tired, but she blamed it on her corset and the lack of fresh air, not on the ride on the train.

"I can imagine. There's still time before we have tea, so why don't you lie down for a bit?" Marjorie suggested. "To be honest, Archie's not even here yet. I only hope he arrives in time for tea."

"But where is he?"

"He's left London only this morning... he's bringing another guest for the party. I think it's some foreigner who was part of a commerce delegation. Don't ask me... you know Archie. He's always very mysterious about these things."

"I'm sure he just doesn't want to bore you."

"If you say so... listen...," she leaned in closer. "We've also invited an old friend of yours," she whispered, as she linked arms with Violet on their way upstairs. Violet turned her head and was surprised to see that Marjorie was actually blushing with excitement.

"What do you mean?" Violet asked suspiciously and instantly feared the worst. Marjorie was not only known for her hospitality, but also for her indiscretion when it came to men. Once again Marjorie looked her shoulder to make sure the housekeeper and the footman wouldn't overhear them.

"Lord Hepworth will also attend our little party. But guess what... his wife won't."

Despite her wish to make an ironic comment, Violet managed to keep up a straight face. "How interesting. Has she taken ill?"

Marjorie shrugged impatiently. "Who knows? Who cares? But when Archie told me, he invited him, I thought it would be nice for you to see him again."

"I have no idea what you mean," Violet hissed.

"Oh, I think you do know," Marjorie said and added, "I've made sure his room is just down the hallway."

Violet rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was a set up by an old friend with an old friend, but she could hardly admit this to Marjorie. She probably wouldn't understand that Violet wasn't interested in sharing her bed with a man – well, at least not Lord Hepworth.

Many moons ago, he had been her lover. The first lover she had ever taken, after she had done her duty and had given birth to a son and the future Earl of Grantham. After Robert's birth, a not every joyful occasion that lasted almost two days, the doctors had told her to her devastation that it would probably be her last baby. Her husband had acknowledged the fact with less frequent visits to her bedroom and she had done what every woman would do: she had seen her needs be fulfilled – only that in case of Lord Hepworth she had been in for a major disappointment. Unfortunately his Lordship had proved to be good at flirting, but when it came to the fulfilment of his promising advances, he had failed. Spectacularly. Violet remembered a very embarrassing quarter of an hour, in which she had heard him panting like a tired horse above her, while she had pretended to enjoy it.

"I'm not sure I understand your implications, Marjorie," Violet said, after the housekeeper had left and the door had closed behind them. "I don't think Lord Hepworth will be interested in me."

Marjorie waved Violet's statement aside. "Oh, but he is interested. Believe me, I know it. He's asked quite a lot about you ever since the Earl died. I think he was genuinely sorry for your loss."

"I'm sure he was... I'm just not sure I want him to feel... sorry for me." Violet gave Marjorie a look.

Marjorie's face was blank. "I understand... at least I think I do."

Violet sighed. She had forgotten how daft Marjorie could be. "I thank you for your... consideration, but I think it's best for me, if I... just enjoy the party. Without Lord Hepworth to console me."

"Anything you say," Marjorie smiled, but Violet knew she hadn't understood a word. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Aside from keeping Lord Hepworth away from my tails? I don't think so."

"Very well then. I'll leave you alone. I'll see you for tea."

When Violet was finally alone, she drew a deep breath, realized her corset was indeed too tight and rang for her maid. As soon as she could breathe again, she needed to find out how to make sure no unwanted man would end up in her bedroom.

* * *

><p>When Violet arrived downstairs for tea she noticed that her host had arrived from London, before she saw him. Lord Carrington was not only a tall, massive man, he was also as noisy and annoying as a steam engine. Violet put on her smile and told herself to always remember to look for a place far away from Archie – and Lord Hepworth, whose path she hadn't crossed so far.<p>

She mingled among the other guests and was happy to enjoy her first sip of tea, when she felt a certain shiver running down her spine. Like the strange sensation one felt when being secretly observed.

Alerted, Violet looked around as far as etiquette and good manners allowed her to, but she couldn't locate a reason for her uneasiness. Everybody around her was chatting and having tea and cake. Her first instinct was to look out for Lord Hepworth again, but she couldn't detect him in the small crowd and finally decided she was probably paranoid. Yet, the feeling was there and it didn't leave. It only intensified rapidly as the moments passed and it evidently aroused her. She felt how she blushed and how the small hairs of her neck straightened up. It was ridiculous. The last time she had felt this way she had been... - she quickly closed her eyes - in a crowd like this in a room much more splendid and wasteful. A man had been watching her from across a crowded room and once she had realized she was being watched, she had... not hidden from him. There had been no way to hide from a man like him. On the contrary. He had been exactly the kind of man she had waited for all her life and so she had allowed him to watch her and she had enjoyed the excitement his hungry eyes caused in her, before she had finally established eye contact with him...

She emptied her cup with one gulp and wished she could strike these memories from her mind. She hadn't thought about him, had even buried her every memory of him, in years. So why did she have to remember him now? Here of all places? It didn't make sense and only confused her.

The resurfacing of her memories didn't stop. It all came back in flash.

Her weeks in Russia. The merciless cold, the snow, the endless nights of balls and receptions, the dances, the forbidden touches... Now her memories were even attacking her senses. Without forewarning she suddenly sensed his presence, as if he stood right next to her. But that was nonsense, of course.

Still, she could swear to smell him. She even heard the dark timbre of his voice. Against her better judgement she noticed how her eyes were now frantically scanning her environment. It was a maddening experience to think he could be around, so close, too close, but she couldn't help herself. She remembered the afternoons and nights she had spent in his arms. His kisses. His body so close to hers. The naïve plan to run away with him to be free of the life they had been raised to lead.

To save herself from the most awkward situation she had ever experienced Violet got herself a second cup, but the tingle on her skin didn't fade and she didn't know how much longer she could hold herself together without escaping this disturbing crowd around her.

Moments later, it was Lord Carrington who came to her rescue. Archie and his horrible, loud voice tore her out of her memories and brought her back into the present. It felt as if someone had spilled a bucket with ice water over her head, but in the end she was grateful for the distraction.

"There she is! Violet, my dear!"

"Archie!"

He kissed her on the cheek. "It's good to see you. God knows, you're far too beautiful to stay hidden somewhere in the middle of Yorkshire! You look splendid!"

"Always the charmer."

"Violet, I want you to meet someone. I'm sure Marjorie told you I was in London over the last week."

"Indeed, she did."

"I think I've met an old acquaintance of yours there and decided to bring him over here." He took Violet's arm and led her through the small crowd.

"Marjorie's already told me, you invited Lord Hepworth," Violet said, as she did her best to make sure her tea wouldn't be spilled over her dress while Archie pushed her along.

Archie laughed, "Forget about Anthony, the old boy will arrive for dinner. No, no, in London I met someone you and Edward met decades ago. Well, that means he told me he met the two of you."

"Now you've made me curious," Violet admitted and apologized as she almost (thanks to Archie) ran into a footman who carried a heavy tray with cups and dishes.

"I knew you would say that!" He laughed loudly and then he suddenly lowered his voice. "Honestly, dear, even if you can't remember him it would still be kind of you to play along. The man is of great importance for our new trade agreement with the Russian Empire. The new Prime Minister had a rough start and it would help us a great deal, if these contracts worked out."

Violet stopped dead and now the tea really spilled over the cup, but she didn't notice the hot liquid, as it ran over her hand. "Did you say Russia?" she asked, shocked.

"Yes... Are you all right, dear? You look pale."

"I'm fine," Violet said quickly, but she noticed how her heartbeat increased. Suddenly she felt all flustered and again a shiver ran down her spine.

"Who is this man?" she asked and noticed her voice sounded hollow while her imagination went riot, but there was just one answer that would make sense. Her mind supplied only one name. Who else would dare to ask for her? Who else would dare to come here? Who else could cause her to feel like this?

"Prince Igor Kuragin," Archibald answered. "Does the name ring a bell?" he asked hopefully.

"I think it does," Violet answered flatly. "He's a cousin of the Tsar, isn't he?"

"Something like this... a cousin once or twice removed. Who knows how these Russian noblemen are related to each other," Archibald seemed relieved. "He said he met Edward and you at Prince Albert's wedding back then in St. Petersburg."

She nodded absent-mindedly, "Yes. A wedding in January. Crazy idea, don't you think?"

Archie laughed, oblivious to her change of behaviour, "You know what they say about foreign customs. But now come on... let's see if we can reacquaint the two of you!"

******tbc*******


	2. Chapter 2

**The rating for this one is still "T", so you don't have to read with closed eyes just yet ;-) Thanks to Gemenied for her continued support and for coping with my bad grammar! **

**Part 2 **

Violet didn't know how she survived the following minutes or hours. She didn't recall what she said, when he finally stood in front of her, nor could she tell how she had explained to her maid why she wanted to wear a different dress from the one she had already picked for the dinner. She couldn't tell what she had eaten or how she had swallowed it, while she had to sit next to him at the grand table and talk about utter nonsense like the weather or hunting traditions. It had been torture. She hadn't seen or heard of him in twenty years, but as soon as she had laid eyes on him, she knew that nothing had changed between them. To spend her evening at his side without being close to him had been a bigger punishment than being separated from him over thousands of miles for years.

He had aged gracefully and she found him even more attractive than twenty years ago. She loved the beard. His salt and pepper hair was a bit longer than back then and she secretly longed for the moment she could run her fingers through it.

In addition to her inner turmoil caused by the Russian Prince, she also had to deal with the arrival and attention of Lord Hepworth. Apparently he had been under the impression that her wardrobe had been picked solely for his pleasure and he had made sure she knew it. To Violet's dismay Marjorie had placed him on the opposite side of the table, so she had to deal with his lingering glances and flirt attempts all evening.

After the coffee had been served in the salon, Violet had had enough and decided to escape.

She had excused herself with a faked headache and returned to her bedroom.

* * *

><p>Finally alone Violet tried to collect her thoughts and feelings. After this evening of emotional torture and restraint she felt emotionally exhausted.<p>

While she leaned against the bed post she caught her own reflection in the mirror and was surprised by the woman who looked back at her. Surely she had wanted to look her best for the Prince, but the final result of her efforts came as a surprise even to her.

Her purple silk dress was trimmed with black lace and exposed a little more of her white skin than it had been intended during the final fitting a few weeks ago. Her waist was slim, even fragile, but despite the lack of oxygen in the morning, her corset was even tighter tonight and she didn't even feel dizzy from being tied up. Her breath was heavy and to calm herself she placed her hand on her chest and was surprised upon the effect her own touch had on her.

Every inch of skin was overly sensitive. The soft cloth on her skin felt cool, but she felt unbelievably warm on the inside.

There were a few strands of grey hair among her shiny auburn curls but for the first time those strands didn't disturb her. All along with her perfect complexion she had never looked more radiant and she was well aware of the reason for it.

For a moment the woman in the mirror scared her, because that wasn't the woman who was the widow of a beloved public figure and she certainly wasn't the woman who had arrived at this house only a few hours ago. It was a woman, waiting for her lover, waiting for him to reclaim her as his. This woman was there and Violet couldn't deny her existence. All she could [do] was trying to keep her in check, before she could make a fool of herself in front of the other guests.

Violet glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece of the fireplace. It was shortly after half past ten. She suspected he wouldn't show up before most of the other men had retired for the night. He would never compromise her and wouldn't take the risk to be seen at her door. On the contrary, all evening she had had the impression that he had dealt with the situation much better than she had. Only once his eyes had given him away. He had given her a soft wink, after she had replied to one of Marjorie's daft remarks with a snippy comment.

For a moment she played with the idea of undressing herself so that she wouldn't have to deal with her maid, but in the end she knew, it would only rise questions she didn't want to answer. Once, many years ago, she had trusted a maid too much and she had paid dearly for her foolishness. Something like this wouldn't happen to her again and so she rang for her and waited for whatever was bound to happen.

The small clock stroke half past eleven when someone softly knocked at her door. Violet who had been combing her hair, froze. She waited, her heart racing in her chest, and then she heard someone knocking again, a little louder this time. Quickly, she put the brush aside, straightened the dark green robe, and opened the door.

But her great expectations were unceremoniously destroyed when she realized her nightly visitor was not the one she had expected.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, so utterly crestfallen that she couldn't even hide it.

"I thought you still might be awake," Lord Hepworth answered, a suave smile on his face. "Maybe you would kindly let me in, before someone sees me here." He swiftly made a step forward, but Violet was quicker and pushed the door forward and hid behind it.

"I don't think this is a good idea!" she said quickly. "I have a headache!"

"No woman who looks as desirable as you has a headache when she goes to bed!" Obviously unimpressed by her reluctance, the Lord tried to push the door open. Violet wasn't overly strong, but she was determined and leaned against the door and struggled to keep him out.

"Anthony, I mean it!"

"But, Marjorie told me..."

She cut him short. "Marjorie is a brainless idiot!"

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Prince Kuragin's dark voice reached her ear and Violet was so relieved and surprised that she forgot to fight against the door and fell backwards, when Lord Hepworth pushed in. The Earl himself struggled to keep his balance, but before he realized what was going on, Kuragin had grabbed him by this collar and led him back into the hallway, like a master would lead his misbehaving dog.

"I think it's obvious that Lady Grantham is not interested in the attention you pay her," he said without even raising his voice. He seemed perfectly calm, but Violet noticed the slight tremble of his arm. He was quite ready to punch the light out of the Earl and Violet prayed the men wouldn't cause a scene. She peeked from her safe spot behind the door and watched the men glaring at each other.

"You should go now."

"Please, Anthony, do as he says!" Violet pleaded, still a bit out of breath.

After a few seconds of inner struggle with his ego Lord Hepworth gave in. He nodded and Igor slowly released him. Shaken and less than pleased with his situation he straightened his collar and fixed his cuff links.

"Very well. I bid you good night then." He nodded curtly at Violet and ignored his opponent. Violet watched him as he walked briskly down the hallway and vanished inside his room.

"Will you allow me in?" Kuragin asked, once he was sure the Lord wouldn't return.

Violet just nodded and allowed him pass her. Once he was inside she turned the key in the lock and rested her forehead against the door. She was much too embarrassed to face him. What must he think of her now?

"Did he hurt you?" he asked softly.

Relieved by his kind manner, she shook her head and turned. "No. He's not like that. He's just..."

"Just not one of those so called British gentlemen," he finished the sentence.

"You would be surprised how well he fits the description." She leaned against the door, steadying herself. "I didn't quite think of asking you this afternoon, but how's the princess? Well, I hope." She made a face.

"I don't know."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've been travelling across the continent for the last three months and she refused to come with me. She never writes back, so I can't tell you how she is." He shrugged and then allowed his eyes to linger on her body. She had seen this appreciative glances before and as before they caused her to blush.

"You know, your friend was right about one thing. You really look desirable. Tell me, how well do you know him?"

"He's an old friend. Nothing more," she answered cagely and lowered her eye lashes.

His steps were slow and determined, but she was paralysed and didn't dare to move. So far nothing that had happened this day had matched her expectations and right now she didn't know, if she had the strength to cope with his overwhelming physical presence in her bedroom. She had looked forward to seeing him alone, but now her courage was leaving her.

He stopped only inches away from her and cupped her face with his hands. They felt warm and when he gently lifted her face to make her look at him, she gasped helplessly.

"I want you," he said hoarsely. "When I realized you would be here, I did my best to receive an invitation to this stupid circus of a party." His thumbs caressed her cheeks and the corners of his mouth twisted into a smile.

"Don't say that," her voice was reduced to a whisper and her hands wrapped around his wrists.

"Why not? It's true. I came to England, because I knew sooner or later our paths would cross. In the end it was easier than I thought it would be."

The way his eyes glittered with unashamed desire made her swallow and she was sure he must hear how wildly her heart hammered in her chest. His proximity aroused her, made her long for him in a way she hadn't experienced in years, but she didn't know, if she could go through with it. Deep down she was scared of her own feelings, but she didn't want to fight them either.

She didn't want him to go, but she couldn't admit this aloud and ask him to stay. She had never been good in phrasing her feelings, less her desires. She had always envied him for being so damn sure and determined in everything he did, but then she hadn't been raised to tell a man what she wanted. Hell, she hadn't even been raised to please one.

"I'm not sure...," she said, and it sounded weak.

"You can trust me," he said lowly. "You know you can."

He was sincere. He had always been kind to her, had never forced something upon her that she hadn't agreed with. She remembered how tender he had been when they had made love for the first time and the memory of it made her smile. He returned the smile and the tension between them broke. She let her eyes travel from his eyes down to his mouth. He understood the invitation and leaned in to kiss her for the first time in twenty years.

At first he was simply brushing his lips against hers, but as her lips parted for him, he captured her mouth and invaded it with growing passion. As the kiss went on and became more heated, she melted against him, wondering how she could have lived without him for so many years.

*****tbc*****


	3. Chapter 3

**It's safe to say that the first half of this chapter is rated M. So, please with closed eyes, if you want to avoid it. The second half is tame ;-) **

**Part 3**

From that fateful day in St. Petersburg, when she had first looked into them, she had known, his eyes would be her perdition. She always drowned in the great depths of them and forgot the world around her. It had been like that between them twenty years ago and it still applied to their love making today. Igor Kuragin was the most committed and attentive lover, she had ever known. In Russia he had scared her at first with his focused concentration, with his eagerness to please her in ways she had never dared to dream about before, but she had grown to appreciate it. Weeks after their involuntary separation in the streets of St. Petersburg she had realized that she would survive without him somehow, but she was quite unwilling to go on without the sexual satisfaction he had introduced her to. In the decades that had followed she had always looked for a man with similar qualities in bed, but no man had ever satisfied the need Igor Kuragin had awoken in her.

And, of course, he knew that. He knew her inside out and reminded her of it with every touch and kiss.

He had marked her with his mouth and hands, before he finally drove into her and set the pace the two of them had created in those stolen hours in Russia.

Covered in sweat she bent her head backwards, bit her lower lip to keep herself from crying out his name and grasped whatever part of the sheets she could get a hold on. She was trapped in a whirlwind of sensations and emotions and had lost every feeling for time or her surroundings.

All that counted was concentrated within her, in his movements inside her, in the way his mouth and hands made her feel wanted and loved. At one point she broke off eye contact, because she couldn't stand the intensity of her own feelings, and he slowed down and pulled back, causing her to whimper. He brushed his lips over her throat and across her lips. His hand slipped between their bodies and he teased her until he got what he wanted and she begged him to go on.

The slow determination with which he pushed into her, while his dark eyes never left hers, drove her into a state of ecstasy that was almost unbearable. Her body trembled as she sensed her climax finally approaching. Her thighs around his hips urged him with firm pressure to fasten his pace, but he held back, focused on extending their pleasure.

"I meant what I said earlier," he whispered against her parted lips. "I will never not want you." Now his movements were becoming more forceful and she eagerly welcomed his hard thrusts with a moan, she never knew she was capable of.

She clung to him, as if she was drowning and when he finally lost all control, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and whispered words against her skin she couldn't understand. Her own climax overwhelmed her seconds later, but she wasn't used to this storm of unleashed emotions. When her release washed over, tears were streaming over her face and she whispered his name in an endless litany.

* * *

><p>The next morning Lord Hepworth was surprised when he didn't encounter the Prince at breakfast.<p>

"Where's our foreign friend this morning?" he asked, a little annoyed, as he unfolded his napkin.

"I think he's gone riding. I saw him leaving the house with Lady Grantham one hour ago," Archibald answered and spilled a bit coffee over the collar of his suit.

Hepworth raised his left eyebrow in disgust. "Interesting," he said. "I didn't know Lady Grantham had a thing for horses." But then he didn't know she had a thing for Russian noble man either.

* * *

><p>The sky above them was blue and seemingly endless the way it stretched beyond the ridge that marked the border of Lord Carrington's estate. Apparently Violet and Kuragin were the only ones who had taken the opportunity to take a ride, which was a relief, because this way they could spend some time together without being under surveillance.<p>

Violet hadn't settled up in years, but she decided it was worth the effort, if it meant she could be alone with Igor. Therefore she had taken up the challenge to climb a horse again. She had picked out a rather tame mare, something that highly amused him.

"Don't you dare to say a word," she warned him, as they headed over the thick grass, away from the stables. The air was fresh, but the clear sky promised a mild spring day.

"I wouldn't dream of it. I, for myself, prefer old mares to young ones."

She gave him a look that would have silenced any other person she knew, but of course not him and so he added with a smile, "I do prefer experience over talent."

"I'm sure you know what you're talking about!" she snapped back and spurred her horse, challenging him for a race.

"You still haven't told me about your ardent admirer from last night," Kuragin said, as he placed his hands on her waist and helped her out of the saddle. Her body brushed against his as he carefully put her back on her feet, but he resisted the need to kiss her, because even here, in the middle of nowhere, he feared to be seen. He reluctantly released her and busied himself with the horses and tied them to a tree.

"Lord Hepworth? There isn't much to tell," Violet answered, as she took off her hat. She had always hated her riding clothes. In her opinion they were highly impractical. Beautiful, but unnecessarily cumbersome.

"But he felt welcome to knock at your door."

"So did you." She gave him a grand smile.

"That's what makes me curious."

"Apparently he was less successful in his attempt – as he would have been, if you hadn't felt the need to play the knight in shining armour," she clarified. "I'm not interested in him."

"But you were once, I assume." His tone darkened and his smile faded. "I know there were others… before and after me." A bit baffled by his seriousness Violet leaned backwards against the tree and looked at him.

"I could say the same about you… not to mention our respective spouses. Do you really think it's wise go there?"

"Perhaps, we should come clean about the past," he suggested.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to think about our future."

Surprised Violet raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean 'our future'? Our shared future died during a cold winter night twenty years ago, when your wife pulled me out of that carriage."

"I've never forgiven her for the way she treated you," he said darkly. "And she paid dearly for it, believe me."

"Hell hath' no fury like a woman scorned," Violet quoted unamused. She wasn't interested in the details of his marriage to this woman. Every time she looked at the wedding band on his finger, she felt sickened and wished the Russians would be more like the English. No English man wore a wedding band and she wished she could take his off to throw it into the sea. She despised Irina with a passion she had never felt for anyone else, because she had taken so much more from her than just a man. Yet, Violet was grateful in a perhaps perverted kind of way. Violet wasn't exactly grateful for the violent treatment, but she had to admit Irina had involuntarily saved her from the road to social ruin.

"Don't you think she did us a favour?"

"What do you mean?"

"You do really think we would have survived as dishonoured refugees?" she asked and pushed herself away from the tree.

"At least we would have been rich refugees," he countered. "I know we would have made it. And I know we could make it now."

Violet smiled sadly, but with deep affection for him. "You're a fool, you know? We don't live in a world that allows us to do what we feel. We're bound to certain rules, we can't just break them and expect everybody to welcome it!"

The prince shook his head, "Our world is dying, Violet. Russia is dying and one day your English Empire will die as well. The world as we know it will fade with or without us. With us being happy or unhappy. We don't matter to this world, so why should it matter to us?"

Sometimes Violet didn't know if his stubbornness was a result of well hidden naivety, a big ego; or if he really thought the cousin of the Tsar could get away with anything. Whatever it was, an English Lady certainly couldn't get away with being a home wrecker, if she didn't want to live dishonourably in the shadows for the rest of her life.

"You know, it's not that easy. Countries can change or even die, but the world will always be a place ruled and made by men. Society will forgive you everything, but not the women. In this way the world won't change."

Igor shook his head, "Is this your way of telling me last night was nothing more than a nice remembrance of the things past?"

She shook her head, a bit hurt by his accusing words. "It's my way of telling you that I want to enjoy the time we have, without… promises we can't keep. Without strings attached." As soon as she had finished, she was shocked about her own words. She had just admitted that she was content with her status as mistress, without even hoping for a decent, morally justified solution for their situation. He, of course, wasn't shocked. She was sure that she wasn't the first woman who had offered herself to him like this and she wouldn't be the last. Yet, he seemed saddened.

"There are always strings, Violet," he said and touched her chin. For a long moment, he just looked at her and a sad glint shadowed his eyes, when he spoke again. "Maybe we should go back, before they send out a searching party." He turned away, but she quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him back to her.

"Igor..." She took off her gloves and cupped his cheek with her hand. "Please, try to understand me. I may be a widow, but I'm not free. Not even for you. I wish I could...," she pleaded softly and leaned in to kiss him. At first he didn't react when he felt her trembling lips against his, but her nearness was too bewitching to resist. He threw precaution in the wind and enveloped her in his embrace.

******tbc******

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	4. Chapter 4

**Here comes the last installment. Again you have to read most of the chapter with closed eyes, unless you're brave enough to face M-rated content! Thanks to gemenied who risked her eyesight by editing this! **

**Enjoy and happy weekend! **

**Part 4**

After lunch Violet used the chance and had a lie-down. After a rather sleepless and undoubtedly energy sapping night, she needed some rest. But unfortunately, sleep didn't come as a peaceful friend. Her dreams took her back to the one fateful night in St. Petersburg when the Princess had foiled Igor's and her plan to elope. The cold, the pain and the tears felt so real that Violet was glad when her maid woke her up and allowed her to return to reality.

"Are you quite well, Milady?" the maid asked worriedly when she noticed the cold sweat on Violet's forehead.

Violet who felt still a bit disorientated sat up and drew a deep breath. "I think so, yes... a bad dream, no more."

"Do you want some tea?"

"Perhaps that would be a good idea," she answered. "And could you run me a bath?"

"Of course, Milady."

The maid excused herself to get the tea while Violet sank back into her pillow and closed her eyes. Igor's look when she had told him she would be content to be his mistress still haunted her. She knew she had hurt him, but she had once risked everything to be with him and she had almost paid for it with her dignity, her reputation and her family. She wouldn't do so again, all she could do was to make the most of the time they were given.

* * *

><p>After dinner, Violet and the other women went into the salon, while the men stayed in the dining room for port and cigars. This evening Violet felt a lot more relaxed and was able to enjoy the exquisite food and the wine. To her surprise Lord Hepworth had learned to behave himself. He still gave her curious glances and obviously hoped she would acknowledge him – which didn't happen - but he kept his distance.<p>

On their way through the grand foyer, Marjorie took hold of Violet's arm and whispered, "Is it true that you enjoyed yourself this morning with our dashing Russian visitor?"

"It was only a hack," Violet answered, already annoyed. She had known before people would gossip about it, but she had hoped against hope Marjorie would leave her alone.

"Oh, you must tell me all about him! Archie says his wife's horrible! They told him she's a nasty, cold woman! A real hag who never lets the prince inside her bedroom!"

"As a matter of fact we didn't talk about his wife or her bedside manners," Violet replied coldly.

"Well, there are only two nights left," Marjorie said meaningfully. "That's your chance to find out, if the rumours about the Russian temper are true! Let me tell you, dear, the man is taken with you."

Violet rolled her eyes in annoyance. The last thing she could think of was telling a chatterbox like Marjorie _how_ taken Igor really was with her.

"Why don't we play cards? You, him, Archie and me?" Violet's hostess suggested with a titillating chuckle. "Who knows what happens? He might start flirting with you!"

Knowing she would lose this battle anyway, Violet gave in. They played cards (which she knew he hated) and he sat vis-á-vis of her, avoiding every kind of eye contact or accidental touching, but the task was harder to accomplish than she had expected. During those hours that seemed to last forever, she realized she couldn't trust herself around him. His presence in the same room fuelled her longing for him that she could barely repress without becoming a flustered wreck. She tried brandy to calm her nerves, but the alcohol didn't help much and after Archie showed first signs of fatigue, Igor and she exchanged a quick glance. She saw the glitter in his eyes and noticed he needed to leave this room as much as she did.

* * *

><p>Twenty years ago Igor Kuragin had introduced her to ways of love making that went beyond the missionary position she had been used to from her late husband. Every time good old Edward had visited her in her bedroom he had been on top and very often he had left, before she had reached any kind of physical or emotional satisfaction. Today she knew the Earl had loved her, but when it came to physical love he had not known what to do. The Earl who had been so self-assured and powerful within the community had been incredibly inside his own bedroom.<p>

Even today, and after a half of dozen of lovers, it was still hard for her to name her fantasies, but with Igor she had found a man who wasn't too shy to tell her what he wanted, and who seemed to possess a sixth sense for her needs. Almost instinctively he allowed her to live out her dreams and in return she wanted to please him. She knew he liked it when she straddled him, so that he could touch, lick and kiss her breasts while she rocked against him. The position also agreed with her and he took pleasure in the way she enjoyed herself when she didn't feel restricted by conventions or prude expectations.

To him she was always beautiful, but even more so now, as she rode him slowly, but determined, her eyes closed and her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders.

Her rigid breathing told him, she was getting closer (she always climaxed so easily with him) and so he pulled her against him. He kissed her fiercely and absorbed her muffled cries. She had become quite vocal and he didn't want to risk someone hearing her. He placed his hands on her hips and stabilized her, as her movements became more and more uncontrolled. He wasn't quite ready yet, but he didn't mind. This night was far from over and he wanted to please her in every way he could.

Violet lay on her stomach, keeping her eyes closed, because she feared she would be torn out of her blissful contentment when she moved or spoke. She was exhausted, but more fulfilled than she had been in years.

Igor lay next to her, but he wasn't asleep either. He was tracing her spine with his fingertips, which caused delicious shivers all over her body. He had taken care of the fireplace and the small flames just spent enough light to illuminate her delicate features.

"Do you want to sleep?" he asked softly.

She denied with a low groan. "What time is it?"

"Almost four," he answered.

"I'll look a wreck tomorrow," she complained half-heartedly and moved slowly against him. He welcomed her with open arms and pulled her on top of him.

"You'll look splendid," he returned and brushed her lips with his. "Sated and content like a fed cat."

"Don't be so smug," she scolded him lightly.

"Oh, I think I have reason to be," he said, as he rolled her over. He gently stroked away some strands of her long hair and kissed her longingly. She returned the kiss with matching passion and ran her hands over his back and even lower. She squeezed him and was unable to hide a smile when she felt how aroused he was.

"So, who's being smug now?" he asked and kissed his way down her neck and collarbone. Violet closed her eyes, willing to accept the tender kisses and caresses. Her fingers ran through his hair as his mouth travelled further down and teased her breasts and nipples with his lips and tongue.

"Why do you always have to be so… attentive? Why can't you be like other men? Take what you want and leave…," she mumbled, her voice wavering a little with rising lust. Her question seemed to astonish him, because he raised his head.

"Why should I want such a thing?"

"To make it easier for both of us when we have to part," she replied.

He shook his head and let his hand caress where his mouth had left his mark earlier.

"Why should I make it easy to leave for the woman I love? What if I prefer her yearning for me every time she remembers me? What if I want her to want me, every time she thinks of sharing her bed with another man?"

"Isn't that quite brazen for a man who isn't even her husband?"

"Marriage is just paperwork," he answered nonchalantly without stopping to caress her.

"It's not that simple," she argued, but thanks to his wandering and quite distracting ministrations she started to lose track of their conversation. The heat in her core was spreading again.

"It is simple, my darling." He softly kissed her lips while his hand reached the inside of her thighs. She hissed when he started to caress her and buckled her hips.

"Do you love me?" he asked, as he slowly teased her with his thumb. His question surprised her, but she couldn't think straight enough to deny it.

"Yes." Her answer was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, but it brought a smile to his face.

"Then tell me," he prompted her tenderly. "I'd give my soul to hear it from you just this once."

With all the strength she could muster she forced her hand on his and stopped his deliberate caresses. She pushed him back on his back and moved on top of him. Then she cupped his face with both of her hands and kissed him tenderly. "I do love you," she whispered and rested her forehead against his.

"That gives me reason to hope," he returned lowly, his voice unstable.

"To hope for what?"

"I won't give up. One day you'll be mine."

She smiled upon his declaration, cherished it even, but knew it was nothing but a fantasy, a dream that wouldn't come true.

"Would you be content with me being yours for this and tomorrow night?" she asked. "Because for me these three nights have been more than I could ever hope for."

He kissed her again and she straightened up. Her hand found the way between them and touched his aroused member, causing him to groan.

There was one hour left before the servants would start the fires and he had to sneak back into his own room. One hour before she had wait for the next night to begin and she wanted them to make the most of it.

* * *

><p><strong>London, two months later <strong>

Violet was bored out of her mind, as she stood in the corner of the ballroom and the glass of champagne in her hand was getting warm. The dancing hadn't started yet, but she doubted the music would help to raise her spirits. The year before she had skipped the season, because she had been in mourning and this year was her first without being married, ever since she had been presented, and she found it rather boring.

If she was honest, it wasn't just the season that bored her. Ever since she had left Carrington Hall two months ago, she was restless and unhappy. She hadn't expected to miss Igor even more than she had twenty years ago, but she did. In 1874 she had had a position to fill and a family to take care of and it had kept her alive. She had had a purpose back then. These days she only had to take care of herself and it was hard not to miss him. She kept telling herself that she had done the right thing in telling him to go, but her loneliness was belying her.

For a short time she had even considered to take another lover, but she had dismissed the idea rather quickly. God knew there were many men who still gave her lingering looks and she had already received two distinct proposals since her arrival, but she felt ridiculously bound to Igor and the mere idea of sleeping with anyone else didn't agree with her.

"You won't believe who is here," Marjorie had approached her and Violet startled. She spilled champagne over her dress.

"Who? The Prince of Wales?" Violet asked annoyed. Robert had told her earlier the Prince was expected to attend, not that she cared much for anything these days.

"Yes and he's got a guest with him," Marjorie said mysteriously. "Guess!"

"Marjorie, I'm really not in the mood..."

"You know him. You've met him before... here's a hint... he's not good at cards."

Violet was so stunned that she forgot about her smirched dress. "Prince Kuragin?"

Marjorie nodded excitedly. "Yes, seems he and the Prince of Wales have met a few weeks ago and our Prince invited the Russian Prince to stay for the season."

"I see. How interesting."

"Make sure to dance with him!" Marjorie said. "I've heard he's a terrific dancer and you know what they say about men who are good at dancing!"

Violet crooked her eyebrow. "I'm sure you know, while I can only guess. But now excuse me, please."

With her mind and her heart going riot, Violet fled the ballroom and hastened to the lady's room on the first floor. It gave her time to think and to prepare herself. She couldn't believe he was actually crazy enough to stay in London. Of course, it could all be a coincidence, but she didn't believe in coincidences. Not when it came to him.

The Prince of Wales and his entourage arrived one hour later and it took his Russian companion one hour, before he made his presence known. He approached her, after Violet had just been dropped off by Robert after a waltz.

"Lady Grantham," Igor said charmingly. "How nice to see you again."

Robert looked curiously at his mother. "You know each other?"

Violet smiled at Igor and introduced the men.

"May I present my son, Lord Grantham? Robert, this is Prince Kuragin. Remember, I've told you, your father and I met the Prince in Russia."

"And a few months ago, we met at Carrington Hall," Kuragin added.

Robert made a small bow and so did the Prince. "I hope you've enjoyed the season so far."

"I do." The Prince said with an appreciative look at Violet and fell silent. After a few awkward moments, Robert seemed to notice his presence was dispensable and excused himself and left.

"I guess you think of yourself as someone who's extremely clever and funny," she said, when she was sure her son couldn't overhear them any more.

"Not necessarily," he answered and helped himself to two glasses of champagne, as a waiter passed him. He handed her one and leaned in, "Will you dance with me?" he whispered seductively. "Like the evening we met."

"A very unlikely idea" she replied smoothly and took a step back. She remembered the ball at the Winter Palace vividly. He was a terrific dancer. She had always felt like a feather when he led her over the dance floor, but she wouldn't be so foolish to allow him to do so here, where he was considered the most exotic addition of the season and she had to be a proper widow.

"Never mind. I'll spend my summer in London this year and so there will be plenty of dances left."

She became pale. "How long will you stay on London?" she asked.

"Since I haven't see a London season, I think I'll enjoy it to the fullest."

"You can't be serious!" she said, shocked about the prospect of having him around for the rest of the summer. Igor just smiled at her and said, "My dear, I've never been more serious about a thing in my life."

"Don't proclaim your persistence, as if it were a virtue."

"I don't know what you mean," he said. "I'm just here to enjoy the summer – no strings attached. So, will you introduce me to the rest of your family?"

"Not if I can help it. I'm afraid they could find old acquaintances of mine quite tedious. After all I'm just an old widow these days."

Violet smiled against her will and sipped her champagne. Reckless, as he was he had brought her into an impossible situation and that in front of the whole English upper class.

It dawned on her that him spending the summer in London had been his plan all along and she chuckled. She had to be on her toes, if she wanted to keep her reputation intact, but she had the strong suspicion that the boring days of the season were definitely over now that he had arrived.

******The End******

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